Midnight Train

Here's a brief story I wrote for an online contest. It required the writer to start with the phrase "a stone-cold night in Memphis". Most of the participants mentioned Elvis. Not me. I had to be different. :) Enjoy!

On a stone cold night in Memphis, I was waitin' by the Illinois Central tracks, looking for a fast ride out of town.

Normally, of an April evening I'd saunter down by the switch shanty and yak for a while with the yard men but just after midnight of April 30, at the turn of the 20th century, the year of our Lord 1900, it was a tad more chilly in town than I cared for. Or hotter, dependin' on your viewpoint.

T'wasn't that I intended to break the window nor went through it thinkin' about the stuff the jeweler had showin' there. But when you're gettin' the stuffin' beat out of you, and your only escape is through a big ol' piece of glass, and when you get through you see lot's of nice sparklies just beggin' you to pick 'em up, well, anyone would surrender to his sinful nature and consider re-distributin' the wealth into his own pocket.

Anyway, the blueboys were on my tail, as were the fellows I'd had my disagreement with in the first place. That's why I was hangin' around the main line and hopin' a fast train would come through right quick.

I couldn't have been there more than five minutes when I heard the engineer whistlin' for the grade crossing about three blocks away, and then he was slowing for the switch.

Yikes! It was the night express to Canton and New Orleans, old number 1!

Well, I'd asked the good lord for a fast train, and I got it. I hauled myself up onto the last passenger car and tugged my coat close around me as I pushed through the vestibule.

Just my luck, there was the conductor, and the look on his face said I better have a fare or I'd be gettin' off just as quick as I'd got on. Lucky for me I had two bits and could pay for a billet as far as Canton.

"Hope we get there in a hurry," I said, real friendly like as the scowling old slug took my money with a prissy two-fingered grab, like it smelled bad or something. Come to think of it, it probably did--I hadn't had a chance to get a bath or a shower for a while.

"Oh it'll be fast enough for you, mister," the conductor said. "We got out of Memphis late, but we also got the best, fastest engineer on the IC pulling the throttle tonight."

"And who is the worthy brother, then," I asked, a mite sarcastic, I suppose.

"Why John Luther Jones, speediest hogger in Mississippi. If Casey Jones ain't fast enough for you, then you're a damn sight too fast for safe living!"

Historical note: On April 30, 1900, John Luther Jones stayed at his post in the cab of his steam locomotive, trying to slow his train before it struck the rear of a freight train standing on the track in front of him. His was the only death in the ensuing crash.

© Copyright 2004 Kevin N. Payne. All rights reserved.